Chapter 6 - A Trap Springs Shut
Two weeks after Vincent’s visit to Michigan, the corporate investigation into Sophia Reynolds took a sinister turn. Desperate and facing criminal charges for fraud, Sophia decided that if she was going down, she would drag everyone down with her.
She had managed to obtain copies of private text messages, doctored emails, and confidential family medical records. She leaked a fabricated story to a prominent tabloid alleging that I had committed corporate espionage and was attempting to extort the Moretti Group through a fraudulent pregnancy claim, demanding fifty million dollars in blackmail.
The scandal exploded across social media. Vicious comments flooded online forums, painting me as a gold-digging schemer who had manipulated a vulnerable CEO and faked an ultrasound to secure a massive financial settlement.
I awoke one morning in the cottage to the sound of camera shutters clicking outside my windows. Paparazzi had surrounded the perimeter of the property, yelling intrusive questions through megaphones, flashing high-powered lenses through the living room curtains.
The stress hit me like a tidal wave. A sharp, searing pain shot through my lower abdomen, causing my knees to buckle. I collapsed onto the hardwood floor, gasping for air, clutching my stomach as a cold sweat drenched my forehead.
“Madison!” I cried out weakly, reaching desperately for my phone on the nearby table.
My trembling fingers dialed the first number on my recent call list. I didn't even check the name.
“Claire?” Vincent’s voice answered on the very first ring, raw with instant alertness. “Claire, what’s wrong?”
“The baby...” I gasped, my voice barely a whisper through the agonizing cramps. “There are reporters outside... I can't breathe, Vincent... it hurts so much...”
“Hold on!” Vincent roared through the receiver. “I’m five minutes away! I’ve been staying at the inn down the road! Don't move, Claire! I'm coming!”
Within three minutes, the roar of an engine shattered the commotion outside. A massive black SUV barreled down the private driveway, scattering the paparazzi like pigeons. Vincent leaped from the driver's side before the vehicle had even come to a complete halt.
He looked feral. He shoved two aggressively shouting photographers out of his path with terrifying strength, kicked the front gate open, and burst through the cottage door.
The moment he saw me curled on the floor, all his fury evaporated into pure, unadulterated panic. He dropped to his knees, gently lifting my trembling body into his powerful arms.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice shaking violently as he cradled my head against his chest. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. I won't let anything happen to you or our baby.”
He carried me out of the house like a fragile porcelain doll. When a photographer stepped forward, shoving a microphone into his face, Vincent glared at him with eyes so murderous that the man instantly stumbled backward in terror.
“Get the hell out of my way before I bury you,” Vincent snarled with venomous authority.
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He placed me carefully into the heated leather backseat of his SUV, locking the doors and speeding toward the nearest regional medical center. Throughout the terrifying twenty-minute drive, his hand reached back, clutching mine with a desperate, white-knuckled grip, praying aloud to a God he hadn't spoken to since childhood.
“Please keep them safe,” he begged repeatedly, tears streaming down his face as he navigated the winding roads. “Take everything I own. Take the company, take my money, take my life. Just let Claire and the baby live.”
